Blue Waters, Blue Eyes
by TheThirdDoppelganger
Summary: Can two broken souls heal each other? Damon and Elena, suffocating in memories from their separate pasts. A tale of heartbreak, of love, of hope, and of letting go. AU/AH.
1. Chapter 1

I slowly pulled into the paved driveway of 58 Seashell Lane, wondering how many more ridiculous ocean-themed street names this tiny beach town could come up with. Already, I saw a Rip Tide Avenue, a Surf Circle, and, my personal favorite, Beach Street. Immediately after putting my rustic Toyota, which had certainly seen better days, more specifically when the second Bush was president, in park, I took in the place where I would be spending the next three months. The house was a charming beach bungalow, whose sky blue paint was becoming chipped after years of enduring the coastal weather. It was small; only one story with a old, rickety-looking front porch that was painted a creamy white. The home was charming and idyllic, the kind of place that I would imagine to be in a Nicholas Sparks' movie.

A summer away from Philadelphia would be good, I reasoned, for what felt like the millionth time during the two hour drive. A summer spent relaxing in the minuscule beach town of Mystic Falls, Virginia would be just fine. I could spent my days on the beach, working on my tan that always seemed to disappear too quickly once September came along. I leaned back against the head rest, toying with my keys, the sharp metal biting into the delicate pad of my thumb. It was all going to be just fine.

My cellphone buzzed in the cupholder in the center console, amid the various candy wrappers and a sticky substance that I couldn't quite identify. I snatched the phone in my sweaty hands and read the latest text message - from my father, of course. He was asking if I had made here safely, as Google Maps projected that I should arrive at exactly 3:23 and it was, as the clock on my phone told me in tiny black letters, 3:25, and if I had enough gas to get me there or if I had to stop at some seedy Sunoco along the way. I replied back with just a bare skeleton of how the drive went, that I was here and fine, and that, yes, the full tank of gas that I had when I left Philadelphia was enough to get me to Mystic Falls.

I sighed. I breathed. I tried to remind myself that this summer would not last forever.

My eyes flitted to the review mirror where, there in the backseat, tucked in the floral carseat my parents bought me as a baby shower gift, was my girl, all nineteen and half pounds of her. She was sleeping soundly, having fell asleep way back when we were just getting out of Wilmington, without a single worry in this massive world. A part of me felt jealous of her, wishing with everything that I had that I, too, was worry-free. She was beautiful, my daughter. And I'm not just saying that because I was biased either. I've had complete strangers come up to me and comment on her appearance, her soft tendrils of deep brown hair and petite pink lips. She was a Gilbert, through and through. All of the Gilberts were given the dark hair and small lips. She resembled me in nearly every way, except for the blue eyes beneath her paper thin, veiny eyelids. Those were a gift from her father and mostly likely the only thing that she'll ever receive from him.

And they served as a reminder of the greatest mistake that I ever made.

When I emerge from the car, I'm greeted with the salty sea breeze. Aunt Jenna and her boyfriend, Alaric, had happily invited us to spend the summer at their home. I had accepted, only after my parents insisting that a change of pace would probably be good for me. That I needed to go somewhere beside Philadelphia. But they told me this with a funny look on their faces, like one would be telling someone that a loved one of theirs just recently passed away. I pulled my girl from her carseat, receiving a tired whimper in response, but she quickly fell back asleep, content in the warm cocoon that was my arms. Carefully, I shifted her weight to my hip and crossed the driveway, walking up the rickety wooden front porch steps, and rang the doorbell.

I wait. One, two minutes. Nothing. No doors opening, no sounds of greetings, no hugs, no cooing over the baby. I ring the doorbell two, three more times, waiting two minutes in-between. I huff, stepping backwards, and searching for any sign of life. No lights on in the windows, no noises. There's only one other car - a silver Volvo - in the driveway, parked next to mine. Balancing my girl on my hip and attempting not to wake her, I reached for the cellphone in my back pocket, hoping that Aunt Jenna didn't forget that I was coming today.

"What are you doing?"

Startled, I jump and my phone clatters to the wooden porch floor. A girl, no younger than me, is standing on the pavement leading to the house, hands on her hips. She's wearing Nike shorts and a thin tank top, her hair pulled up in a high pony tail, and sweating profusely, looking like she just got back from an intense run in the summer heat. She's breathing heavily. "Well?" she demands, raising her eyebrows up high.

"I, um..." I glance back at the house, my eyes meeting the '58' on the mailbox in curvy, black script. Did Aunt Jenna give me the right house number when she texted me with her address? Or what if I somehow misread the message and now I'm standing on a complete stranger's front porch? Suddenly, I'm all panicky and I'm not sure what to say or do. I open my mouth to say something, to explain and diffuse the situation, when the girl interrupts.

"Look," She stomps up the stairs, yanking her earphones out and wrapping them quickly around an old metal iPod, "if you're selling anything, we don't want it, okay? And seriously, don't come back. Oh God, are you one of those Jehovah's Witnesses people?" The girl watches me, waiting for me to say something, explain why the hell I'm here. When I don't, she crosses her arms against her chest.

"I'm Elena," I tell her, as way of explanation, holding my daughter closer to me. "I'm sorry. I must have the wrong house number or something, but I'm supposed to-"

"Oh!" And, just like that, all irritation disappears off of the girl's sweaty features. "Oh. My. God. Of course! Jenna told me that you were coming and I just totally forgot. I just went for a run. I'm training, you know. There's an annual half-marathon in August and I came in second last year and I'll be damned if that happens again." In one motion, she swoops down, retrieving my phone and handing it back to me. I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized that there was no damage done to the fragile screen. Her hand searches for something in her shorts pocket and soon emerges with a metal key. She shoves it in the doorknob and turns it, then pushes the door open. I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I really should be following a stranger into what I _think_ is my aunt's house, when she looks back at me, motioning for me to follow. So I do.

The house is exactly how I imagine a beach house would be. All light and airy, with white furniture and pictures of palm trees. Light hardwood floors make up the living room and the walls are painted in an off-white color. The curtains and couch cushions are the same light teal. The air smells like cotton and coconut. There's a basket full of seashells on the coffee table. The wall to the right of the entrance is covered with bookshelves and a flatscreen television. Upon closer examination, the books are a vast collection of historical nonfiction, ranging from ancient Rome to the Cold War.

"Well, come in, come in," she smiles, and I watch her stumble around the living room, trying to casually fluff up the throw pillows and put away the magazines and half-empty cups on the coffee table. "Seriously, make yourself at home. _Mi casa es tu casa_. Is that even right? I took, like, a year of Spanish back when I was a freshman and literally don't remember a thing. Can I get you anything? Water or are you hungry? You must be hungry after such a long trip. Jenna said that you live in Philadelphia, right?"

And she literally says all of this in one breath. I wonder how a single human could possibly conjure up that much energy when I barely had enough motivation to get out of bed in the morning. She's still cleaning too, dusting off surfaces and folding blankets. It was almost like inviting strangers into her home was something she did on a regular basis. Really, though, I didn't even know who this girl was. Where was Aunt Jenna anyway?

"Um, yeah. Just outside of Philly," I tell her and my heart swells with longing at the name of my home. She leads me into the kitchen where, upon seeing the view from the glass doors that take up most of the one wall in the kitchen, my jaw drops. The ocean is just a couple dozen yards away. I knew that Aunt Jenna lived close to the water, but I didn't realize they had beachfront property. I've seen the ocean many times in my life, but I'm sure you see the ocean in a whole new way when you're looking at it while drinking your coffee in your kitchen every morning.

The girl, however, seems use to the view. She opens a few cupboards, taking out glasses and filling them with lemonade. She's rambling but I'm barely taking in her words. "I've been to Philly a couple of times. It's nice, I guess. We just did the usual touristy stuff. You know, the whole Liberty Bell and Betsy Ross House stuff-"

"I'm sorry," I interrupt as she slides a cup of the lemonade towards me. "But Aunt Jenna didn't mention..." I trail off, not sure how to word it.

"Oh!" The girl shakes her head, laughing a bit. "I'm Caroline. I can't believe that I didn't introduce myself. I'm Alaric's daughter."

I had known that Alaric had a daughter, vaguely remembering overhearing that detail while listening to my mother's phone conversations with Aunt Jenna. But, for some reason, I just assumed that the daughter was a child, still in elementary school or something. And it's not like we ever had the chance to meet. Jenna was always moving quick with her boyfriends, a trait that my mother was constantly scolding her about. It's been at least a year since Jenna last came to visit, so none of us had the chance yet to meet Alaric, or his daughter.

"Oh, right, of course," I nodded, feeling stupid, and taking a sip of the lemonade that tasted sweet and slightly minty. "Jenna told me that Alaric had a daughter."

"That's me. Is the lemonade good? I made it from the mint that I grow. Well, I grow it at my boyfriend's house but I still call it my garden," Caroline tells me. But, before I can inform her that her lemonade is the best thing that I ever drank, she cocks her head to the side, looking at my sleeping daughter, whose head is on my shoulder, her drool slowly seeping into the cotton material of my t-shirt. She was going to wake up soon. "And this is Charlotte, right? Jenna was telling me about her."

I nod. "Charlie, for short," I explain, watching carefully. Slowly, gently, Caroline reached out and brushed Charlie's springy, brown curls, tucking a piece behind her ear. She had a full head of hair when she was born and, eleven months later, it was stubborn and the curls refused to stay in one place. Even though I knew that I was being ridiculous, that Caroline would probably never hurt my baby, I still tensed up, a mama bear protecting her cub.

But Caroline doesn't seem to notice and, instead, just smiles at my girl. "She looks a lot like you. She's really cute."

I brace myself for the inevitable questions to come. Things such as _Well, are you still with the father or..?_ and _How old are you again anyway?_ I dreaded these questions, and usually fumbled through them in awkward replies. It happened everywhere - in grocery store lines and at banks and nurses I run into while visiting my dad at his work. They always commented on how beautiful Charlie was, before quietly asking those personal questions, with a smile on their faces as if that made it okay to ask. As if I didn't already know how fucked up everything was.

To my surprise, however, Caroline doesn't mention any of these questions. Just going to tell me stories of her past adventures in babysitting and, after hearing several of them, I made a mental note not to ever ask Caroline to babysit for me. Not that I would ever ask her to anyway. She seemed like the type of person who loved to talk about herself and, really, I didn't mind. I didn't do much talking lately anyway.

Maybe it was rude of me to think this, but I was irritated at Jenna for failing to mention that Caroline, a girl my age, would be thrown in the mix. I didn't want to get to know her. I didn't want to hear about all of the fantastic future plans that she had and how just wonderful her life was. I didn't want to get close to her. This summer was supposed to be just some time to myself. To come to terms with everything that had happened, to try to figure out what I was going to do in the fall. Already, I was signed up for fifteen credits at a community college. I didn't want to do all of the _girl_ _stuff_ , like shopping for bikinis and painting toenails. It already seemed like Caroline was into that type of stuff and I just wasn't.

After a few minutes of talking, mostly done by Caroline, of course, she shows me to my room. The house was only a single story, so she led me down a hall, the walls painted a sunny yellow and with pictures of Jenna from her college years as in white frames. She took me to the last room on the left of the hallway and the first thing I noticed is the white wooden crib in the corner of the room. The rest of the room is small but it's not like I need much space and, besides, it's only for a couple of weeks. There's a twin sized bed, pushed up against the wall with the window which, unfortunately, only had a view of the street and not of the ocean. There was an empty closet along with a dresser. And that was pretty much all that could fit in the room.

"Sorry about the size," Caroline says, setting my navy blue duffle bag down on my bed after she insisted she would bring it in from the car and after I insisted that she didn't have to. She won, of course. "But usually the houses on the shorefront are small. We don't pay for the space, though, we pay for the view. My dad and Jenna should be back soon." She sits down on the edge of the bed, toeing off her sneakers.

I sit down on the bed, which has a light blue and white quilt on it and I know that it was made by my mother and Jenna's mother, Grandma Marie, who died a few years ago, judging by the designs on the quilt. I run my finger over the blue stitching. Charlie is beginning to wake up and I know that it's just a matter of time before she begins eagerly exploring her new surroundings, crawling around the dirty floors and putting a bunch of nonsense into her mouth. I was already dreading it, with the house not being baby-proof and all. My eyes caught a million small items that Charlie could potentially choke on as soon as I walked in the door.

"Where are they, anyway?" I ask, taking out a rattle from my purse and handing it to Charlie before she would start throwing a fit. She needs to be fed soon, too. And I was going to have to change her diaper. I started searching my overpacked bag for diapers and wipes and the ointment I always use since Charlie still gets wicked diaper rash. I would have to unpack all of our stuff, which was going to take a little while considering I had to organize all of our clothes, separate them into piles, because the last thing I wanted was to have to scramble through Charlie's clothes, looking for matching outfits and such.

Caroline takes a moment to answer, as if she's trying to choose her words carefully, which seemed a little odd. Finally she says, "They're just at a meeting with the lawyer. It's not a big deal or anything. It's just..." she trails off, looking anywhere but me. For a moment, just a split second, I catch her eyes looking sad, like she was almost ashamed, but that look quickly disappeared. She stands up quickly from the end of the bed and claps her hands together. "Okay, well, how about I show you around Mystic Falls? You'll love it. It's seriously the best place in the world."

I wasn't exactly sure how right she was about that. How could a place so small be the best place in the world? But I nod anyway, mostly because I'm too polite to say no. Charlie's wiggling in my arms and I can feel a tantrum coming if I don't get her fed and changed quick enough. It's embarrassing, having to deal with the baby in front of Caroline. "Okay," I say, handing Charlie the rattle, hoping to calm her down for just a few more minutes. "I just have to get Charlie ready first."

"I'll tell you what. I'll shower and get dressed and meet you in the living room in, say, twenty minutes?" Caroline smiles, winks at me, then gathers her shoes from the floor. "I'll take you to all of the best places around town. Trust me, this is going to be your best summer yet." She leaves the room and, a minute later, I hear the shower starting to run.

Just in time, apparently, because this is when Charlie starts throwing a tantrum and I hope the shower sounds block the volume of my daughter's screams. She's always fussy after a nap that lasts too long. Going out to explore Mystic Falls was the last thing I wanted to do, especially with a cranky kid. I stand up, swaying slowly side to side, holding her and trying to calm her. She's not budging though, just tears and her red face distorted in sleepiness and frustration. As I hold her, I think about how fast things change. Old Elena would have loved to spend a summer in a quaint beach town. Now, though, I want home and the comfort of having baby gates in all of the doorways. Two years ago, everything was impossibly, impossibly different. It produced a type of nostalgia that was almost too painful to bear.

As Charlie continues carrying on, I throw my head back and blink fast, trying to get rid of the tears forming in my eyes. A lump forms in my throat like it always does when I'm about to cry. "Shh," I tell her, whispering. "I got you, baby, I got you. And we're gonna be just fun, huh, Charlie? We're gonna be just fine." I tell my daughter the lie, looking into her icy blue eyes that haunt me of all of my mistakes and regrets.

* * *

 **Damon is coming soon.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Just to clear up some confusion, Damon is not the father of Charlie. Elena and Damon have never met before this story begins!**

 **Also, a GINORMOUS thank you to my very, very, _very_ awesome beta Katia Herondale. Seriously, she's the best!**

* * *

Caroline emerges from the steamy bathroom, all shiny and smelling like lavender. Her hair is styled in big, blonde ringlets that remind me of a 1940s movie star. She's wearing a trendy outfit - a top that exposes her stomach and short shorts, stuff that I could never dream of pulling off. At least not after having a baby at sixteen years old. I was at least fifteen pounds heavier and could never imagine of squeezing into my old pair of skinny jeans, much less an outfit as revealing as the one Caroline was currently wearing. It was just another thing on the list of small things that I had to give up, things that you don't really think of when you have a baby. Like long showers and going to the bathroom without having a chubby, nearly one year old following you in.

Meanwhile, it took me nearly forty minutes to conquer my squirming child so I can change her diaper, feed her some mashed bananas and pea mixture, and wrestle her into an outfit. She was always grumpy after long naps. By the time I was finished, my mood was already sour. I was exhausted and kept yawning. I needed caffeine desperately, like an animal searching for water in a drought. Coffee was the main source of my nutrition these days.

Caroline, however, doesn't seem to notice my mood. I was beginning to wonder if she ever noticed anything; the scowl on my face was obvious. Instead, she insisted on helping me by pulling out the stroller that I had stashed in the backseat. As she sets it up, she babbles endlessly about Mystic Falls. I'm not really listening to her, though, I'm too busy trying to slide Charlie's sweaty, chubby feed into her sandals.

"Ready to go?" Caroline asks me, as I'm putting a pair of heart shaped kiddie sunglasses on Charlie. "Or do you need to change first?" There's no sign of hesitation in her voice, like she didn't even _think_ that the question could be even the slightest bit rude.

"Oh?" I looked down at myself. I was wearing total mom jean shorts that I found on the clearance section at an Old Navy back in Philadelphia. My shirt was just a loose, cobalt blue v-neck shirt that I couldn't even remember buying. There was a stubborn, greenish stain on the bottom of it that wouldn't come out, probably from when Charlie was just a newborn, but it was one of the only shirts I felt really comfortable in, so I couldn't bear to part with it. "No, I can just go like this."

Caroline purses her lips but, thankfully, doesn't say anything else.

A ten minute walk later, we were on the Mystic Falls Boardwalk. Being just after five o'clock in the afternoon, there weren't too many people out. The most popular hours of the boardwalk were at night, when the bars became alive with obnoxious drunks, Caroline explained, leading me along. We walked together, the ocean to my right, the shrieking of seagulls, and the sounds of the small crowds of people around us. There were advertisements and neon signs for everything, ranging from pizza restaurants with _the best pizza on the boardwalk_ on a sign displayed in front of every store to henna tattoos. Despite the bar scene, most of it was family friendly, as Mystic Falls had a reputation for families with small children, not a place where rowdy young adults spent their spring breaks. It was the type of place people went to to escape the glorious hustle and bustle that I have grown to love. I wasn't sure if Mystic Falls was the place for me.

It was ridiculously hot, even with the sea breeze, so I was immensely grateful when Caroline led me into one of the shops along the boardwalk. A sign outside of it said, in lime green letters, "Pump Up the Juice" with pictures of oranges, apples, and bananas. Caroline held the door open for me as I pushed the stroller in, the cool air greeting me. The shop consisted of a loud orange color on the walls, with black and white tiles on the floor. Decorated on the walls were various photographs of fruits. There was a long, L-shaped counter with several blenders on it, along with refrigerators and sinks. A few customers sat on the tables around the place and it seemed like a popular destination for the locals in town.

As soon as we stepped inside, Caroline had a huge grin on her face. In a matter of two long strides, she was over at the counter and locking lips with the employee working at the counter. I blushed, I looked away, a child giggling at watching his parents kiss. Charlie was getting fussy again, but this time it was because of being in her stroller for longer than she would like. She was energetic, my kid. I scooped her out, perching her kiddie sunglasses on the top of her head, when Caroline called me over.

"Elena, this is Stefan, my boyfriend. Stefan, this is Elena. Remember how I told you Jenna's niece was going to be staying with us for the summer?" she said, whipping her head back and forth between me and him. Stefan was nice, I supposed. He had brooding look to him, not scary enough that I would label him as a possible murder suspect, but brooding, nonetheless. Not the type of person that I would image Caroline would be with. He ran his hands through his thick, brown hair that seemed to have plenty of hair gel in. He wore a shirt that was just a smidgen too tight for him that was a lime green and said in tiny black letters 'ah-sigh-ee'. Whatever that meant.

Still, I stuck out my hand and we shook, his hand meaty and calloused, awkwardly. "Nice to meet you," I tell him, biting my lip. I glance up at the menu written on a chalkboard in neat letters behind his head. It had various names for smoothies and juices and the ingredients in each drink, most of which I didn't even recognize. Vanilla whey? Ginger in juice? Acai bowls?

"You too," he says, with irritation, but something tells me that it's not directed at me.

True to her character, Caroline doesn't seem to notice that her boyfriend is miserable. Instead, she sticks a finger out to Charlie, who eagerly grabs it with her chubby, probably somewhat sticky, hand. "And this," she smiles, looking back at Stefan "is Charlie. Elena's daughter. She's..." Caroline looks at me. "How old is she again? She can't be older than one, right? God, she's adorable."

"She'll be one in a month," I say, heart swelling. Has it really almost been a year? There's no way that my daughter is almost one.

"Isn't she just the cutest thing ever?" Caroline says to Stefan, putting her hands together and covering her mouth.

And that's when Stefan and Charlie make eye contact. Stefan, despite his mood, gives her a tiny smile. Without any warning at all, Charlie erupts into tears. She's screaming, red faced, and crying in my arms. Stefan's eyes widen and he quickly took a step backwards, stumbling into the counter behind him. "Wh-What did I do? Oh God, did I hurt her?" he asks, even though he didn't even touch her, and I could hear the panic in his voice. I almost burst out giggling. It was funny, seeing a grown man in fear of a crying baby.

"It's nothing," I assure him quickly, my laughter gone once I realize how embarrassing this situation is. Caroline's looking at me with pity. "It's nothing. She just gets fussy sometimes." Even though I had no clue what was going on with Charlie. She got cranky after her naps, sure, and being forced to stay still for a bit too long, but never when we were around people. She was a people baby. I rub Charlie's back, whose still screaming her head off. "I'm sorry." I mumble and step away from them.

The other customers are looking at me in disgust and I can almost hear their conversations. _Can't she shut that baby up already?_ I bounce Charlie gently, but she's still crying. Caroline reaches into my bag that's resting on the top of my stroller and pulls out a colorful toy for Charlie. She hands it to her, saying in a soft, baby voice, "Did Uncle Stefan scare you? Yeah, he does that to a lot of people," she teases.

Charlie, however, doesn't seem to have any interest in her toy. "I'm so sorry," I say to Caroline. She's seen Charlie throw two tantrums in one day. She usually wasn't like this and I just blamed the change of settings on it. The long travel to a place that she isn't used to. "She's usually not like this. I have no idea what's gotten into her." I'm bouncing her, rocking her back and forth. This causes her cries to lower in volume, but she doesn't stop completely.

"Oh, it's fine," Caroline waves her hand. "Do you need me to get you anything? Should we go outside?"

"No, it's okay. I'm just...yeah, it's fine," I insist, taking a few steps away and positioning myself so I'm facing the window. Charlie's still crying, but not loudly enough to disrupt the other customers. I sway back and forth, whispering soothing things into her ear. Charlie's resting her chin on my shoulder and I can feel her plump, little tears soaking into my shirt. Poor girl.

Still, it's embarrassing. Having a baby that you can't quite control having a tantrum out in public. People stare at me in disgust, shaking their head at the teenage mother who has no idea how to parent. I feel myself get red in shame. The room suddenly feels like it's closing in on me, walls about to smash me together. I stand there, looking out at the ocean, trying to soothe my daughter. I think about how vast it is and I wonder if all of the fish in the sea know just how gigantic their world is and how far they can go, or if they stay in the same place, the same waters. Are they perfectly content with where they live or do they long to see what's out there? Right now, even a deep sea swim would make me claustrophobic.

"I have no clue what's going on with him," I overhear Stefan say at the counter, in-between Charlie's cries right into my ear. I hear something crash, like he threw metal into a sink. "He's not talking-" Stefan says more but I can't make it out.

"Please, Charlie," I tell her, desperately. "It's okay. You're okay. Just _please_ stop crying."

Then I pick up a bit of what Caroline's saying, "...that's just what Damon does, though, Stefan. You can't fix everything that's wrong with him..." There's the sound of the blender, loud and bone grinding. I smell strawberries and bananas.

After the blender stops, Stefan says, "It's her. It has to be her. I haven't seen her around at all lately."

A few more minutes passed and I overhear just a bit more of their conversation, which must be the reason why Stefan is so miserable. Something about Damon and a girl, I gathered. I didn't know who Damon was and I wasn't particularly interested in his life. Charlie eventually calmed down. I set her back in her stroller, gave her the toy that Caroline took out early, and left her to her own devices.

"I'm sorry about that," I say to Caroline and Stefan, sighing and playing with the end of the pony tail. Charlie seems fine now, thankfully. "She just gets like that sometimes, I guess." I look down at my feet, at the blue pedicure I got weeks ago and that was severely chipped.

"Don't worry about it, Elena!" Caroline says, smiling. I wondered if she ever stopped smiling. "Seriously, it's fine. I ordered you a smoothie. I come here everyday after my workouts and drink a smoothie and Stefan knows exactly how I like it, huh?" She hops up on the black metal square stool at the counter and pats the one next to her, her way of inviting me to sit next to her. I sit, keeping an eye on Charlie, who is still occupied with her toy.

"I sure do," Stefan says, poking straws into the lids of two clear plastic cups, filled to the top with a thick, purple mixture. He slides them over to us and Caroline takes a sip of her's eagerly.

I sip mine. It tastes like blueberries and vanilla, but not all that bad. Stefan starts wiping the counter. A pair of customers, both of whom shot me death glares when Charlie erupted into her fit earlier, leave, tossing their cups into the trash can and stepping out into the humid, soupy air outside. I'm still thanking whatever God there is that Charlie stopped crying and seemed content enough with her toy, occasionally making noises.

My girl hasn't quite mastered the word "mama" yet but I knew it was going to happen any day now. She was so smart and kept saying things and sounds that resembled actual words, but wasn't quite there yet. She knew what I was saying, though. She knew that "No" meant that she should stop doing whatever she was doing. Though, she only listened half the time.

"So, Elena," Caroline says and I look up at her. "There's this party a bunch of people are going to tonight. It's on a beach, completely private so there's no way we'll get caught or anything, I swear. I go there all the time. Anyway, Stefan and I are going-"

Stefan cuts her off, but doesn't look up from cleaning the counters. "Nope. I never agreed to go. Never once did I say I would go. You're putting words in my mouth."

"Oh, I'll put something else in your mouth," Caroline rolls her eyes and I watch Stefan stick his tongue out at her when she isn't looking. It's all in good humor, though, of course. Maybe Old Elena would have even found them to be a cute couple, not as nauseating as I view them to be right now. She turns back to me. "Anyway, you should totally come with us. You'll have so much fun."

I'm starting to think that Aunt Jenna told Caroline that she needed to involve me in all of her activities with other people my age. You know, so that I would get out of the house more and actually be a normal teenager.

I make a face. "I don't think so. I can't just leave Charlie alone."

"Jenna would probably watch her. Come on, we could have so much fun! The beer is free and you'll get to meet all of my friends from school."

Stefan chimed in, "Don't listen to her, Elena. Caroline is the only person that has fun at this social events. Run while you still can," he says with a straight face. While I still have a hard time picturing them as a couple, I could see it a little better now that I understand Stefan's humor. Still, Caroline seems like the type of person that needs a boyfriend as crazy and as energetic as she is.

"Stop!" Caroline reaches out and hits him lightly. "You're scaring her. Seriously, Elena, it's fun. Grandpa over here doesn't know what fun is. His idea of fun is watching _Seinfeld_ while eating cold pizza on a Friday night. Because, trust me, that's what he was doing before we started dating."

Stefan tossed the cloth over his shoulder and crossed his arms. " _Seinfeld_ is an American classic, Caroline," he tells her in a matter-of-fact tone. "You just don't know good TV, that's all. And-" he looks at me now, "-she listens to that weird pop crap that's always on the radio. She literally has no taste in music either."

Caroline smirks at me, crossing her arms against her chest too. "Well, at least I have good taste in men."

"I can't argue with you on that one." Stefan chuckles and shakes his head. They lean across the counter and kiss. A quick peck on the lips, but enough to make my stomach clench with something that I don't quite recognize. It can't be jealously. I had given up on relationships, frankly. They were simply a waste of time. But...Caroline and Stefan, despite their opposite personalities, they were good for each other. I saw that in just their ten minutes of interaction.

"Anyway!" Caroline says to me again, like she's suddenly remembering that I'm here and just witnessed her and her boyfriend kiss for the second time today. "You need to come tonight."

Part of me knew that no matter what I said, no matter the excuses that I made up, Caroline wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer. Really, the last thing I wanted was to spend a night of drinking around other people my age. I didn't want to hear of the colleges they were going to, how they had no idea what they were going to major in, or gossip over relationships. As much as I complained about not being able to be a normal teenager anymore, part of me didn't _want_ to be a normal teenager anymore. Even if I magically had a babysitter and Charlie was fine without me, I still couldn't picture myself fitting in, talking to other people my age, making plans for concerts, and discussing previous wild parties. Mostly, though, I didn't want to have to be put in the position of explaining that I had a daughter. It wasn't an easy conversation. Ever.

"Um..." I chew on my bottom lip, hoping that someone would come to my rescue and get me out of this situation. Caroline looked at me hopefully. "Maybe. But only if Jenna agrees to watch Charlie."

"Great!" Caroline squeals, acting like I agreed and was just as heartily excited as she was. "This will be so good for you, Elena. You know, being able to go out and all."

Caroline and Stefan continued to bicker about nonsense, but both ended up laughing, no real harm done and no real arguments. I checked my phone, heart sinking slightly at the '0 New Messages' icon. Though, I suppose, no one would want to talk and be friends with a single, teenage mother. I _had_ friends, loads of them, before Charlie came along. Before all of my time was consumed with Aaron Whitmore. Though, after the storm hit, everyone else seemed to disappear. Along with Whitmore.

Just as we were about to leave, our smoothies mostly gone, Charlie and Stefan made eye contact again, just briefly, just lasting for a second. Again, Charlie bursts into tears, kicking her little feet against the fabric of the stroller and throwing a fit. Stefan stares at her, defeated, "Oh God, she really doesn't like me, huh?" I try pushing her stroller back and forth, back and forth, hoping that the motion would calm her. It doesn't, however. She just continues watching Stefan and howling.

Caroline's laughing though, so I know that it's not really a nuisance to them that she's crying. "You're scaring her with your face!"

"Hey," Stefan says, kneeling down in front of her, which only increases the volume of her screams. I wince, thankful that not too many people are in the shop. "Hey, kid. Jeez, I'm not hurting you." He holds his hands up in defeat, waving the white flag. "Okay, okay, here..." He searches in his jean pocket and his hand emerges with a shiny, silver quarter. "You want this, huh? Yeah." He places the quarter in her chubby hand and, immediately, she stops crying, like she wasn't terrified of him just seconds ago.

Caroline laughs even harder, a good laugh. The kind that isn't forced, as real as the air that we breathe. "Elena, I think that your child is going to be a con artist one day."

* * *

"Absolutely!" Aunt Jenna says, with too much enthusiasm than I would have hoped, when Caroline asks if she can watch Charlie for the night, therefore ruining the only reasonable excuse I had for why I couldn't go. "I think that that's a great idea. Besides, we would love to spend some quality time with this cutie. Right, Ric?" Jenna calls over her shoulder, as her, Caroline, and I are sitting at the dining room table. I kept picking at a thread on the table mat.

Alaric, who's rummaging around the kitchen, says, "Sure thing." But I had a feeling he didn't really hear what Jenna was saying.

Aunt Jenna and Alaric were home by the time Caroline and I came back from the trip to Pump Up the Juice. We walked in and were greeted with tense, tight smiles on their distraught faces, like we were children and were too young to hear of their adult problems. There were papers, something with an emblem from a law office whose building I saw on the drive here, on the counter, but Jenna scooped them up and filed them away neatly before I had a chance to peek.

In a way, almost, it was comforting to realize that I wasn't the only human in the world facing issues that felt like the end of the world.

"Really," I intervene, "it's fine. I don't have to go out tonight."

"Elena," Jenna says. She has Charlie on her lap, who was currently blowing spit bubbles and was concentrating on the pesky fly that kept buzzing around the kitchen, landing in different spots on the dining table. "I want to do this."

"But-"

Caroline interrupts. "Hush." She gets up and joins her father in the kitchen, both searching for something, opening drawers and slamming them, occasionally getting grunts when they still couldn't locate whatever it was they're looking for. "There's this really amazing thing called having fun. F-U-N. Flyswatter?"

Jenna, without turning her attention away from Charlie, replies, "Left drawer beneath the sink."

"Aha!" Caroline declares her success a minute later, emerging with a neon green flyswatter from the left drawer beneath the sink, as promised. Alaric, however, is still hopelessly searching what seems like every drawer in the kitchen, mumbling something about finding the juicer. I wondered how long they were living in this house for. It couldn't have been quite long if they didn't know where basic things like juices and flyswatters were in the kitchen.

"Here it is," Caroline says, coming back to the dining room table, eyes trained on the fly. "It'd be the perfect way to celebrate your first night in town. It's right on the beach, too. Jenna used to go there all of the time when she was in high school and college. Isn't that right, Jenna?" She asks, slamming the flyswatter down on the table, unsuccessful in actually hitting the fly.

"We are not discussing how I was in high school. Your father already gossiped too much about that to you," Jenna says, scolding lightly. "But, Elena, one night isn't going to do any harm. If you're so worried about Charlie, I promise you that she'll be fine. Me and Ric are excellent babysitters. I took care of you when I was a baby."

"See?" Caroline says, hitting the table in several places and still not hitting the fly, before I can respond. "It's mom's night out. Sort of. You'll probably be the only mom there. No offense or anything. So, you're coming." She says it as a statement rather than a question.

Figuring that there was no point in arguing, not with both Jenna and Caroline against me, I give in. "Okay," I tell her, crossing my arms against my chest. "I'll go."

Caroline, however, instead of celebrating my agreeing to go to the party, manages to successfully kill the fly, it's corpse being smushed against the green flyswatter.

"Got it!" Both Alaric and Caroline say triumphantly at the same time, one holding up a flyswatter and one holding up the juicer.

* * *

Caroline drove Stefan and I to the party later that evening. I was in the backseat, sandwiched between various and colorful shopping bags, from all different stores that I recognized but hadn't shopped at for at least a year, that Caroline had "been meaning to take back, but just hadn't found the time yet". We picked up Stefan and cruised down Beach Street, the main road in town that ran perpendicular to the ocean. The air smelled like the salty sea.

The entire drive, which lasted for an astonishingly twenty minutes, was an entire game of radio surfing. Stefan, I realized, liked Dave Matthews Band type of music while Caroline stuck to whatever pop music that was most popular. I was getting annoyed after a while, to tell you the truth. All of that switching back and forth from The Foo Fighters to Katy Perry. At one point, Stefan was explaining to Caroline that One Direction was a total ripoff of The Beatles, like how RoseArt crayons were to Crayola crayons.

I was, however, missing Charlie. She was asleep when we left, passed out in her little crib, a purple blanket for protection, and a thumb in her mouth. She was always sucking on her thumb, a nasty habit that I was trying to get her to stop. I had instructed Jenna on what to do in case she woke up and was freaking out that I wasn't there, stressing how important it was to check her diaper, and there were bottles in the fridge, and where I had all of the diapers. Jenna, however, told me that I worried too much and needed to go out and have fun. Like it was that easy. Like it was just a matter of flipping off a switch.

I kept clicking the button on my phone, bringing light to the home screen, just in case Jenna texted me about Charlie. She didn't.

Caroline roughly swerved the car into an empty space, in the middle of a bunch of other old, junky cars with dents and scratches galore. It wasn't technically a parking lot, but just a worn-down grassy area near the beach. The first thing I heard upon getting out of the car was the magnificent waves, the crashing against the shoreline, the brilliance of the tides, courtesy of the moon. I'm wearing the same pair of shorts I wore earlier today. But I changed my top to a magenta and navy blue loose tank top. One that was, thankfully, stainless.

I followed Stefan and Caroline toward the party. There was a rowdy group of at least forty-some people, surrounding a bonfire, which was set up a couple of yards from the water. Everyone was barefoot, toes covered in the yellowy sand. Nearly everyone was holding a red plastic cup and, as we made our way towards the kegs, not a single one glanced at me. I breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that maybe no one would acknowledge me at all that night. That I could slip away from the crowd, dip my toes in the cold waters of the Atlantic, and never have to hold a conversation with a stranger again.

Caroline handed me a foamy cup of beer, eyes twinkling. "Drink this. It's cold. You've had a beer before, right?"

"Yeah," I say, cautiously at first. I wasn't planning on drinking. Motherly duties and all. But I figured that a sip or two wouldn't hurt, as long as I wasn't getting drunk. So, I took a deep breath, holding up my cup just a few inches and arched an eyebrow at Caroline. "Cheers?"

Our cups clunked, foam spilling out onto our hands.

Thirty minutes later, only a few sips of my drink were gone and my mind wasn't the least bit fuzzy, not even close to showing the beginning stages of intoxication. Caroline, however, was clearly tipsy. Stefan was tending to her while I stood a few feet away from them. Caroline had, much to my dismay, introduced me to about half of the people there. Everyone here was either still in Mystic Falls Area High School, just graduated, like Caroline and Stefan, or were either underclassmen in college.

Now, though, a small circle of us were crowded by the bonfire. It consisted of Caroline, Stefan, a few of their close friends, and myself. One girl, whom Caroline seemed exceptionally close to, was Bonnie Bennett. She, Caroline explained, was attending Harvard in the fall, on the track to become a successful lawyer. My heart constricted when she told me that. Then there was Tyler Lockwood, a total asshole, even if his father was the mayor, and someone I should definitely stay away from, Then there was Matt, whose thick framed glasses kept drooping on his nose and he was always pushing them back up.

I was taking another sip of the cheap beer when I happen to glance over at a lone guy sitting on one of the long logs by the bonfire. He held a red cup too, but didn't seem the least bit interested in it. He didn't seem interested in the party either, as a matter of fact. Just staring endlessly into the flames, the fire illuminating the sharp features of his face, his messy black hair.

"Caroline," I nudged her a bit. "Who's that guy?" I nodded toward him.

She sighed, like this guy caused her a lot of trouble or something. "That's Damon Salvatore, Stefan's brother. He usually doesn't come out to these things." She took another swig of her beer, which was, seemingly, the last of it because she tossed it to the sand, not caring that she was littering and that little action probably cost a sea turtle it's life but whatever. "He's damaged goods. I'm all for you having a summer fling or whatever, but not him."

I hope the nighttime darkness hides my blush. "No. God no, of course not. I was just wondering. He seems lonely."

Caroline shrugged and went back to her friends, laughing in tune with the ocean.

I briefly recall the conversation between Stefan and Caroline earlier, something about Damon and a girl. I wondered how much another person could fuck another person up, enough for someone else to label them as "damaged goods". But then I realized that I already knew that answer.

An hour, maybe more, passed. I found myself standing off to the side. To their credit, Caroline's friends tried their best to engage me in conversations but, with all of the inside jokes and people I never heard of before, I couldn't keep up. I wanted to go home, to climb into the bed and under the quilt made by Grandmother Marie and try to sleep. My feet were hurting; I had taken my flip-flops off and the sand was rubbing my feet raw. Plus I kept stepping on seashells and-

"Oof!" A boy, a tall, wide one that was probably the linebacker for Mystic Falls Area High School's varsity football team, said, as he stumbled into me. I winced, his giant feet stepping on my bare toes. As the drunk boy fell, he crashed into my cup that I was holding, spilling all of the contents of it into my shirt. So much for at least having one, stain-free shirt. The shirt was soaked in beer, like I had just gone for a swim in the keg. When he regained his balance, he looked at me, mouth open, "Uh, sorry..." he told me without any sincerity, and walked away.

I scowl, wishing that I had brought some sort of wipes to clean myself off. If I had the diaper bag I used for all of Charlie's things I would. I stared down at the huge, amber stain all over my shirt. Stupidly, I wanted to cry, not just because I lost another shirt but because I didn't know how to do all of...this. This party scene, this interaction with friends. I had been to parties before, usually ones that Aaron exhorted me to, citing reasons such as free beer or good music. But now this, this was just all too much for me to handle.

As I was considering how long it would take me to walk back home, since Caroline and Stefan clearly weren't ready to leave yet, I realized that the only thing more awkward than being at a party where you didn't know anyone was being at a party where you didn't know anyone _and_ you didn't know what to do with your hands. I was making my way across the small groups of people, towards the cups and the keg, just to having something to hold. As I was fumbling with it, trying to figure out how to not get it to be so foamy, I heard it. Then I saw it.

The blue and red lights and sirens of a the Mystic Falls Police, on their way to bust a party.

The party that I was very much at and was very much consuming alcohol.

It takes less than a second for everyone to scramble. It's chaos, cups of beer flying and the music that was playing suddenly shutting off. I hear car doors slamming, the sound of squealing tires as people take off. People keep bumping into me. People are running in all directions. The cops are shouting, showing flashlights. I'm panicking now, thinking of how irresponsible I was with a baby at home. God, I reeked of people and it was obvious how guilty I look, even if I had only had a few sips.

I was going to end up in jail and would never see my daughter again. How could I be so stupid? I should have never gone to this party. Screw Caroline and screw her saying that this place was safe from the cops. And screw Aunt Jenna for urging me to come here. I hated Caroline and Jenna and Mystic Falls. I'm panicking now, pushing past people and trying to get to the spot where Caroline, Stefan, and all of their friends were. But I can't find a familiar face in the crowd.

"Caroline!" I'm shouting, being pushed, being nearly trampled off. It's only when I turn around and realize there's a cop just a short distance away from me, shining a flashlight into Tyler Lockwood's face, is when I realize how I needed to just go and stop searching for Caroline.

I run on the sand, nearly tripping several times. I follow the crowd of people, who all seem just as terrified as I am. Everyone is talking, screaming, shouting, but I can't make anything out. I try finding Caroline's silver car, but everything is starting to look the same and it's too dark, really, it make anything out clearly. I think I keep shouting Caroline's name but I'm not exactly sure. I think of cells, cold prison cells, and cold metal cuffs, and being trapped. I think of one mistake altering everything, ruining everything that had been so carefully planned.

Someone crashes into me and I fall, scraping my knee against a rock. They walk away, too preoccupied with getting away from the cops than making sure the girl that they just knocked down is okay. Gritting my teeth, I push myself up, watch a bit of blood trickle down my leg.

"Are you okay?" a voice asks. For a moment, I think it's the guy who knocked me off my feet, coming back to apologize. But, no. It's not him. Instead, it's a face that I recognize from earlier, the same features that were bathed in the orange glow of the flames. The same person that looked lonely as hell, sitting on the log by himself. Damon Salvatore, Stefan's brother.

The only thing that I can really register, however, is his eyes. The ice blue eyes, as cold as rivers in the winter, as burning as an inferno. They remind me of failures and regrets and mistakes. They remind me of my sleeping daughter at home. His question is genuine, concern for a stranger.

I blink. "I'm fine," I tell him because I was. It was just a scratch. I've been through worse.

He nods, pursing his pink lips. "Come on, let's get you out of here," is all that he says, extending his hands toward me.


End file.
